


Agency

by howler32557038



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky doesn't know what to call gay people, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Protective Sam Wilson, Quickies, Rimming, Shower Sex, Top Sam Wilson, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, discussion of consent, motel sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howler32557038/pseuds/howler32557038
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve leaves Sam to keep an eye on Bucky while the team is on the run, with strict instructions not to leave the motel. Bucky can make his own decisions for the first time in years, and he's not going to waste it. Sam is always ready to help out a fellow soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mollynoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollynoble/gifts).



> God bless this anon. First time writing this (spectacular) pairing. I hope they (and you!) enjoy this. I had a blast writing it!

They’ve been sitting in the motel for an hour, and they have yet to say a word to one another.

Steve had left them with strict orders - don’t leave. Not for anything, not until he can get them some kind of vehicle to travel in without Sam’s license plates, with darker windows or no windows at all, so that their faces won’t pop up on traffic cams. They’re all wanted men now. How Steve plans to rent a van without being noticed is anyone’s guess, but Clint and Wanda will be there to help him out. Sam has been left to babysit in the meantime.

They haven’t spoken much at all yet. A few words here and there. A little good-natured bickering. They’re not enemies, but they’re not friends yet, either. And Sam doesn’t know what to say, anyway. Bucky’s like a spooked animal - he startles if you speak too loudly or too suddenly. And yet, this is kind of familiar. Sam has seen other vets come home the same way. This is by far the worst case, but it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with.

The responsibility of breaking the silence shouldn’t be on Bucky. Sam knows that, so he takes a deep breath.

“Hey, buddy,” he begins softly, gently. “You want to watch something on TV?”

Bucky looks up from the edge of the bed where he’s been sitting, stiff and silent, and shakes his head.

“There’s a little coffee maker in the bathroom - want me to fire it up?”

Bucky doesn’t respond immediately, but he swallows reflexively. Sam can already tell that it’s a positive reaction. He imagined the taste of coffee, and it made him salivate. “Yes, please.”

Sam smiles. There. That’s a good start. He heads to the bathroom and tears open the plastic package with his teeth - not the decaf, because _fuck that_ , they’ve still got a long night ahead of them. He sets it up and presses start, and when he looks up into the mirror, Bucky is standing just behind him. He forces himself not to jump - if he startles Bucky, he might just end up getting himself clocked. He laughs off the surprise, instead. “Damn, sneaky,” he chuckles as the water starts to drip.

Bucky watches it wordlessly for a moment, listens to the hissing steam begin to escape the water reservoir.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?”

Sam waves his hand. “Man, you know you don’t have to ask about stuff like that. You want a shower, you take it. You’re your own boss,” he smiles. “You got time, anyway. Steve texted me a minute ago, said he’s gonna be at least another hour.”

“Will you…” Bucky trails off, staring resolutely at the stream of coffee dripping into the pot.

Sam uncrosses his arms, trying to make his body language open, non-threatening. “Whatever you need, man. Just let me know.”

“Can you stay?”

“Feel like you still need some supervision?”

“Until we figure out what’s making me...lose it. Yeah. Just don’t want to be alone.”

Sam nods understandingly, taking a seat on the closed toilet. “Yeah, yeah, I got you. It’s no problem.”

Sam studies the floor tiles while Barnes undresses, layer after layer of clothing, like he’s wearing everything he owns. He probably is. Bucky folds every article neatly and stacks it all on the counter, piece by piece - that old military habit that Sam hasn’t managed to kick, either. Routines.

The massive scar on Bucky’s shoulder catches his eye. He doesn’t want to stare, but it’s pretty gruesome. Makes his stomach knot up. Makes his mouth feel dry. Poor guy really has been through some serious hell.

Bucky climbs into the bathtub, closes the curtain halfway. Sam watches him fiddle with the tap for a minute, trying to get the water to come out of the showerhead instead of filling the tub, but he figures it out on his own. Motel showers are always tricky. The room fills with steam after a few uneventful minutes - Barnes must have that water _smoking_ hot in there. He sighs, breathing in the damp air, and watches the coffee pot fill for a while.

It takes him a minute to hear Barnes’ voice of the bubbling coffee machine. “What’d you say, man?”

Barnes doesn’t answer, but he can still hear him. Sounds like he’s crying. Sam immediately stands, worried, and taps the closed half of the curtain. “You okay?” He slides it open.

But Barnes is _smiling_. Leaned against the wall, metal hand braced against the tiles, head tilted down to let the water beat against the back of his neck, he’s grinning like a kid and laughing. It’s fucking creepy.

Sam laughs along with him, more uncomfortable than amused. “What so funny, Barnes?”

“Nothing’s funny. Just...glad.”

Sam relaxes. Okay, so the guy hasn’t snapped and lost his mind. That’s good. “What brought that on?”

“Nice to not be alone,” Bucky sighs. “Nice to have a hot shower. Steve’s alright, he doesn’t...hate me. Just, things are happening...and it’s not all bad,” he explains, grasping for every word. “And I have...I don’t know what to call it. I just...I get to...to make…”

“You have _agency,_ ” Sam fills in for him, a little proud to see his progress, like Barnes has just become a member of one of Sam’s support groups. “You get to decide what you want. Must feel pretty nice.”

“Yeah,” Bucky huffs out, lips curling into a smile that seems to surprise the rest of his face. “It’s like it’s...almost _too_ much. I want...there are just so many things I haven’t done in so long. Things I’ve missed. Coffee. Hot showers. Stupid stuff,” he laughs, running his hands through his hair as he finally looks up, breaking through that haze and making real eye-contact with Sam, like the words have finally started flowing and now he can’t get them to stop. “Tacos, and a pair of wool socks, and I want to go swimming for _fun_ , and, jeez, I want to have sex again. With someone _nice_ , someone I _like,_ and I want to go see a Dodgers game--”

Sam laughs, holding up his hands to slow Bucky down. “Woah, man, hold up, I got some good news and some bad news. First of all, you can do most of that stuff and nobody in the world is going to stop you, if me and Steve have our way. We got your back. But just because we’re at a seedy motel does not mean you get to phone a hooker and rediscover yourself. Also, the Dodgers moved to LA. Brooklyn’s got the Cyclones, now.”

Bucky, to Sam’s amusement, looks just a little devastated. “They - what? No.”

Sam snorts. Bucky sounds like he thinks he can make the Dodgers come back just by the sheer force of his denial that they ever left. “Sorry, don’t shoot the messenger.”

He seethes for a minute, before he finally sighs, giving up. “Well, that’s a shame,” he concludes.

“Steve agrees. Well, I’ll let you get back to it, man. Sorry I barged in. Thought you were crying.”

Sam starts to close the curtain. Bucky’s next question shocks him into utter stillness. “You...you bent?”

Sam sputters nervously. Is this guy asking what it sounds like he’s asking? Like, isn’t that some old wartime word for... _not_ straight? Is he going to kick the shit out of him if he says yes? What the hell made him ask? Was he staring? Did he make him feel threatened? Shit, what’s he supposed to do here, lie? No, that never turns out well. Stick to your guns. Turn it into a teachable moment? Run? No, he can’t leave. Shit. Teachable moment it is.

“Well, ‘bent’ isn’t really what it’s called nowadays,” he corrects gently. “I...I was with a guy for a couple of years, though, yeah. But, that’s...well, that’s a story for another time. It’s pretty well-accepted, now. My family knows, my coworkers know - it’s not like it used to be.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen stuff about it on TV. Queers getting married, parades.”

Is Barnes about to jump out of that shower and commit a hate crime? Sam wishes he could read this guy a little better, because he needs to know whether or not he should be taking cover right now.

“How do you feel about that?” Sam asks warily.

Bucky seems to notice how apprehensive Sam is. His brow knits together, confused, and then his eyebrows shoot up with realization. “Oh, no, I’m not - I don’t hate queers. I--” he searches nervously for the right way to phrase something, shaking some water out of his hair like he’s trying to buy himself time. “I used to party with sailors down at the docks all the time. We got up to all kinds of stuff,” he smiles, like the memories just came back, and he’s glad to have them. “Gin and whiskey and marijuana, and well...me and Steve, we weren’t exactly models of decorum,” he admits. “Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

“Hey,” Sam assures him, utterly thrilled that Barnes isn’t about to clock him and try to beat the queer out of him. “My lips are sealed.” Secretly, he thinks back to his first few run-ins with Steve and starts to wonder if maybe...just _maybe..._ Captain America might have been laying the moves on him. And boy, does his ego ever sing the hallelujah chorus at the thought.

“You want to get in?”

The words come out so fast that Sam has to take a minute to translate them, and then another few seconds to believe them. What. What the. Did that just happen? Is this. Is he hallucinating? This is the single weirdest shit that’s ever happened. How is he supposed to. What the hell should he do? Damn. He was not ready for that question. Barnes’ face gets paler with every passing second of silence, reminding Sam that he’s got to say _something._ “Oh, shit,” is what comes out. Fucking blew it, Wilson. You fucking blew it. Recover. Say something else. “Oh, _shit._ ” Not that. “I mean, I kind of figured...you know, you wouldn’t be ready for that sort of…” Just give up. You’re an old man now, Wilson. Done forgot how to flirt.

“Not for a relationship,” Bucky provides honestly. “I think...I think that’ll take me a while. Just...just for fun. No strings.”

Holy hell. Sam knows what he wants to say. This is too fucking _crazy_ . This is unbelievable. And Barnes looks _good_ right now. He’s just as cut as Steve, gorgeous, even better with his hair wet and pushed back like that and steam rolling off his shoulders and eyelashes dark and lips bright red and his whole body gleaming like a damn statue. And his request - no, the _way_ he requested it - sounds pretty normal. Pretty healthy. Like a guy who has his head on straight. And yet, Sam still knows full well that this is neither the time nor the place. This is a terrible idea. He shouldn’t do that. He should politely decline. Tell him, yeah, maybe, once all this blows over. Once everything has calmed down. Maybe one day, but definitely not right now. And while his brain thinks all of those _sane_ things, his hands reach down to the hem of his shirt and pull that motherfucker right off. Well, alright then. Bad decision, it is.

And Barnes’ face just splits into a big old grin, like the Dodgers have come back to Brooklyn. And that right there almost makes whatever consequences he’ll have to face for this worth it. Belt, shoes, socks, pants, boxers follow in rapid succession, and Sam doesn’t even bother to fold any of it up. Just kicks it into the corner and steps into the shower before he loses his nerve, and pulls the curtain shut. This is so stupid. This is a terrible decision. This is hot as hell.

“You...uh,” Barnes stutters, scrubbing nervously at the juncture where flesh meets metal. “You wanna just...jump right in?”

“Probably don’t have long,” Sam answers breathlessly. “What’s...um. What the plan?” Damn, it’s been a while since he’s hooked up with anybody. He hopes Bucky didn’t notice him cringing at his own uncoolness.

But Barnes just figures this is a green-light to get started, so he just smiles, and this time it’s a little bit coy. And shit, that looks good on him. “I like catching.”

Okay, Sam knows what _that_ means, outdated as it may be. And damn, he’s wanting to go that far? Sam had figured this would just be a quick trade-off on handjobs and then back to sitting in uncomfortable silence out in the motel room. But this guy’s got _plans._ And suddenly, Sam realizes that _he’s_ got some plans of his own, or at least his body does. He’s gotten so hard so quickly that it hurts, and the words _I like catching_ just send the blood south even faster. This jerk has got him wrapped around his little metal finger in a matter of minutes, and he’s not even arguing. “Alright, then,” he replies decisively, shaking his head at himself. Cap is going to rip him in half and leave him on the side of the road. Cap is going to _kill_ him.

Bucky steps forward first, closing half the distance between them and Sam responds in kind, closing the rest, and they tip their heads at same time, Bucky leaning down to put his lips on Sam’s shoulder and Sam needing to taste that sharp jawbone like he’s never needed anything in his life. And suddenly, what Cap doesn’t know won’t hurt him, because Barnes tastes _sweet_ and rough and hard and soft and like everything Sam had been missing about sex since deciding to pursue the single life. And Bucky’s mouth on his shoulder makes him groan, sucking little bruises into his skin, scraping his teeth along Sam’s flesh until he has to hiss because it feels _so_ good.

Sam doesn’t even try to police his hands - he’s way past that, and they go straight for what they want and reach out to get a handful each of Barnes’ full hips, slide down over those thick thighs, drag back up onto his ass, which feels even better than it looked somehow, and now Bucky’s the one moaning and hissing and _goddamn,_ Sam _did_ that to him. He likes this. This isn’t so bad. This was a good decision.

Bucky’s hands have some ideas of their own - and hell, they’re powerful and big and beautiful as the rest of him and it’s a _joy_ to feel them reach up - warm flesh and water-heated metal - and squeeze down on Sam’s pecs, thumbs dragging over his nipples in a way that Barnes probably figures is gentle, but the guy just doesn’t know his own strength, and Sam wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sam drags his lips along Bucky’s jaw toward his mouth, and Bucky takes the hint. Did men just forget how to kiss since 1945? Or is this just Barnes’ own, ridiculous talent? Because this is one hell of a kiss - Bucky’s tongue works over Sam’s bottom lip until it tingles, and he sucks Sam’s tongue into his mouth so insistently, traps it against the roof of his mouth, runs his tongue over the underside, like he’s trying to show Sam just how he’d go about some _other_ shit altogether, and it’s getting _dangerously_ good. So good that Sam knows that if they don’t move on to stage two, he’s going to end up _really_ embarrassed, which is absolutely not what he wants.

But Bucky seems to get that vibe off of him - hell, he can probably _feel_ that vibe pressing into his thigh. Barnes takes a step back, and Sam sees that he’s not much better off - the hot water has him flushed and he’s rock hard, heavy and full and - and Sam looks back up, so that he doesn’t embarrass himself.

He takes a few deep breaths once Barnes turns around, trying to cool himself off so that nothing gets rushed, nobody gets hurt. This has to be good for Bucky. He has to take it slow, make _sure_ it’s easy, sweet, safe, sexy. Bucky is owed that, after everything he’s been through.

Barnes leans forward and braces both hands against the wall, arching his back a little, and Sam just has to stare dumbly for a minute. Wow, that’s nice. That is _really_ nice. Take it slow. Enjoy it.

He lays a hand on the small of Bucky’s back, stroking his thumb over his tailbone while Bucky whispers impatiently, “Come on, come on,” and Sam’s head spins. He brings his other hand to meat of Barnes’ ass, squeezes, draws another low groan out of him before finally sliding right in, running his fingers along him from bottom to top, pausing every time to press against his asshole and rub the pad of his middle finger just a little further in with each pass. It takes a while, but Bucky relaxes, loosens up, let’s the warm water and Sam’s fingers open him up, and he presses back, eager and ready, but if he thinks Sam’s going to dive in like that, he’s got another thing coming. Sam is _gentleman._ He’s not going to do this halfway.

Bucky’s too broken down by this point to even notice when Sam gets on his knees - which is fine by Sam, he doesn’t want the surprise ruined - but when he takes a hold of Bucky’s asscheeks and spreads them apart and drags his tongue over him with all the conviction and confidence and enthusiasm in the world, _oh_ , Barnes _notices that._ He slams his fist - the real one, luckily - into the wall and then just has to keep beating it, panting out a litany of _Ah_ and _Oh my God, oh my God,_ and _Yes_ and _Please, yes_ and Sam has never been so reassured of his own prowess, and that just makes him feel like a million dollars.

When Sam finally stops, it’s not himself he’s worried about losing it too soon, anymore. He’s pretty sure he had Bucky within a few firm strokes of orgasm, and the way Bucky growls when he pulls away and stands up only serves as confirmation. But now they’re on to new and better things - Barnes is fucked open and spit-slick and so, _so_ ready for this, and Sam finally feels like he’s done his due diligence. He slips one finger into Barnes up to the second knuckle without a bit of fuss or resistance, and Bucky just melts onto it, letting out one long, slow sigh like he’s coming home. Sam presses in as deep as he can and Bucky presses back like he’s aching for it. “Shh, baby,” Sam eases him. “Hey...take it nice and slow. I got you. Let me work on this.”

Bucky nods obediently but can’t seem to stop himself from grinding back onto Sam’s finger, so Sam pulls back and presses in a second. And that must be a little more of a stretch and just what Bucky needed, because it calms him down, pacifies him, fills him up. By the time Sam works in a third finger, Bucky’s head is bent low and his breathing is conscious and even and measured, and Sam can tell that his head’s in the game. He’s focused and he’s making himself relax - taking some of the burden of making the experience easy and sexy off of Sam, getting himself ready and taking his time with his own body. And that’s what makes Sam sure about taking the next step. Bucky wants this bad enough to work for it, to go slow, make sure it’s good for both of them. That’s what Sam wanted to see.

Bucky sighs softly when Sam pulls his fingers out, shifts his feet, spreads his legs a little further and glances back over his shoulder, wet hair sticking to his face. “Hurry up, water’s gonna get cold.”

And if there’s one good reason to hurry, it’s that. Sam takes himself in hand - sees stars - and presses the head of his cock up against Bucky’s slick asshole and takes just one more second to enjoy the way it makes the guy just _keen_ for him before he presses in a little, just far enough to make that high keen become a low, deep groan that rumbles in Barnes’ chest like a purr. And all Sam has to do his grip the base of his cock, steady himself, and let Barnes do the rest in his own time.

Bucky works Sam into him like he was made for it, too, breathing slow and steady, tossing his head back and dragging his fingers along the wall until his tightly stretched rim presses against Sam’s hand, then pulls back, slides down again, and presses against Sam’s closed fingers a little harder, like he’s telling him, _Get the fuck outta my way, I want it all._ And Sam gives, and Bucky takes.

The way Bucky is bent over gives Sam a little meat to grab, right where hips and abs meet thigh, and, God, it’s like that’s what it’s there for. Fits right into his hands, and Bucky just loves it, loves being grabbed right there and pulled close with firm, steady fingers and then pushed away with strong, insistent thumbs and palms. “Oh, shit, oh my God,” he sighs, and it’s another low laugh. “God, that feels so good.”

“Yeah, it does, sweetheart,” Sam smiles. “Feel so tight, baby, so good. So glad you asked for this,” Sam chuckles, shaking his head, delirious.

“Don’t talk anymore, fuck me,” Barnes demands.

Well, _alright_ then. Sam doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls out real slow and fucks back into him, then tightens his grip on Bucky’s hipbones and gives him just what he’d asked for. The water’s starting to get cool, and it couldn’t feel more perfect - just the right temperature on their overheated skin, a sharp juxtaposition against Barnes feverishly hot insides that squeeze down around him, and he sets a pretty sharp pace - tight, quick thrusts, every one hitting home if Bucky’s totally unbridled moans are anything to go by. And this is just _perfect._ Exactly what both of them needed, when they needed it most.

Sam feels that spring coiling in the pit of his belly, knows he’s not going to last another thirty seconds. He let’s go of one of Bucky’s hips to slide across his belly and down to Bucky’s own heavy cock that’s begging for attention, but Bucky takes his hand and forces it back onto his hip, not taking no for an answer.

“Baby, let me--”

“No, no, I’ll do it,” the words come tumbling out of Bucky’s slack mouth, barely intelligible, totally wrecked. “Just keep on fucking me, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

And Bucky does do it himself, and somehow just _knowing_ that pushes Sam closer, and if that’s not what tips him over the edge, it’s what that extra stimulation does to Bucky, tightening him up in sharp little spasms, drawing Sam in deeper and deeper, over and over and suddenly Sam’s face his burning hot and the cold water is the only thing keeping him from catching fire, and he’s coming harder than he’s come in _years,_ God, maybe harder than he’s _ever come in his life_ , filling Bucky up and shaking like a leaf in the wind, groaning so hard and so low in his throat that he knows he’s got to sound like a wounded animal and he just can’t bring himself to care. Because Bucky’s shaking now too, knees going weak and back rounding and moaning like he doesn’t care if every motel guest hears just how much he’s loving this, slamming himself back onto Sam’s cock when Sam’s too far-gone to keep thrusting.

“Oh,” Bucky sighs when he can speak again. Sam hasn’t recovered quite so fast. “Oh my God.” He takes a deep drag of air, tilts his head back, let’s the water, now icy cold, run over his flushed cheeks. “Thank you.”

Sam smiles. “No problem, Barnes,” he says, making it sound a lot more personal than the words themselves are, and plants a kiss on Bucky’s shoulder, right on those scars that now look perfectly lovely to him, just like the rest of Bucky.

 

They dry off without a word. The silence isn’t uncomfortable anymore - it’s companionable. Easy. They get dressed. Sam goes back out to the living room and turns on the TV just in time - a card slides into the reader on the door, and the handle turns. Cap walks in, eyes immediately searching for Bucky even as he says, “Sorry that took me so long, couldn’t find anywhere that was open.”

“No problem,” Sam assures him, voice maybe just a _hair_ too high. Too innocent.

“He alright?” Steve asks softly.

“Fine,” Bucky answers for himself, stepping out of the bathroom without his shoes or socks, hair damp, two styrofoam cups in one hand and the little pot of coffee in the other.

He takes a cup to Sam and fills it up, hand remarkably steady as Steve watches him pour - more steady than Sam’s hand trying to hold the cup, that’s for sure.

“Thank you,” Sam says lamely.

“Welcome,” Bucky smiles.

Steve’s brow creases as he looks back and forth between the two of them, like he’s missed something. And, _boy, has he ever,_ Sam thinks guiltily. “You two are getting along a lot better,” Steve remarks, and Sam swallows and hopes it wasn’t audible as he tries to think of some convoluted explanation that’s probably only going to end up making him look suspicious.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers for them both, simple as that, and looks Steve dead in the eye. And that right there is enough to make Rogers happy.

Sam burns his tongue on the coffee, and doesn’t say another word. Bucky signs for him to stay just that silent when Steve bitches that there’s no hot water, and throws him another one of those coy smirks. Maybe this was a bad decision, after all.

 

No. No, this is _just fine._

**Author's Note:**

> God, I'd been dying to work the Dodgers move to LA into a fic forever.
> 
> Thanks for the prompt, anonymous friend! Good night!


End file.
